


far from the tree

by storiesfortravellers



Category: Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles
Genre: Angst, Artificial Intelligence, Childhood, Gen, Issues, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 05:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3197042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesfortravellers/pseuds/storiesfortravellers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An adult Savannah Weaver travels back in time to work with Catherine Weaver. As they pursue their mission, Savannah remembers what it was like to be raised by a machine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	far from the tree

“And who might you be?” Catherine Weaver tilted her head at the intruder, seeming more amused than threatened.

“Check your facial recognition,” the woman answered, a bit glibly. She was tall, well muscled, perhaps 30 years old.

Catherine made a facial expression, something more than mere curiosity. “Savannah. Darling. How is the future?”

“Violent.”

“Of course. Are you here for revenge?” Catherine asked. She still seemed entirely unthreatened.

“For killing my parents?”

“Yes, for that.”

Savannah paused. “The pathetic thing is, you’re the only parent I can remember. More than vague images, anyway.” She stared at Catherine, at the machine, and wondered how she looked to her, how “Catherine Weaver” perceived the girl she raised. Did she seem hardened? Bitter? Would these categories even have meaning to her?

“Then you have another reason?”

“John Connor needed someone to come back to this time and help you. He asked me, I said yes. He was worried that if any other human came here with extensive knowledge of your project, you’d kill them immediately. Just to be on the safe side.”

“I see.”

“Of course, you might kill me anyway,” Savannah said, tilting her head. She projected confidence, disdain, the sense that serious matters were of mild intellectual curiosity only, the way she had watched Catherine do a thousand times. 

“I could. But I would rather catch up,” Catherine said.

Savannah nodded. 

Catherine smiled, and Savannah tried to find it chilling, monstrous, instead of familiar. The machine said to her, “Then let’s have tea.”

\--

“There are many stories. About girls and their stepmothers. The stepmothers never triumph, despite their superior experience,” Catherine said as she delicately placed two sugar cubes in her own tea. 

Catherine had always taken two sugars, even when Savannah was a child. Savannah didn’t know if this was something her real mother had done, something that Catherine had decided to imitate. She wished she could remember.

“Do you think of yourself as a stepmother?” Savannah asked. She shouldn’t; if Catherine wanted to go down a rabbit hole of the collective human unconscious, there was definitely no advantage in following. 

“No. Was it hard for you? Learning that I wasn’t the woman who gave birth to you?” 

“You mean when I learned that you were pretending to be my mother?”

Catherine took a long sip of tea. “I always thought you had figured it out long before.”

“…When I was a teenager. I figured out you were a machine. I was stupid. I thought that you were still my mother, just… different. It wasn’t until the war, when I joined the Resistance, that I realized that you were just raising me so you could understand human development. So you could better help John Henry.”

“Of course. He was always the mission. And human interaction is vital to developing a more complex machine consciousness.”

“Then why did you take me back? From Sarah and Mr. Ellison?”

“They were putting your life at risk with their ridiculous efforts. You had nearly been killed on their watch.”

“You shot James in the knee.”

“He didn’t want to let me take you.” Catherine stared at her curiously, as if the logic were obvious.

Savannah did her best not to crush the teacup in her fingers. She set it down slowly. “But why did you bother to get me? Your mission with John Henry was done.”

Catherine folded her hands neatly. “I was not a good mother.”

“No kidding.”

“It is rare for me to find something I am not good at.”

Savannah closed her eyes. “So I was a challenge.”

“Learning to raise a child like a human would, and knowing how to develop emotional and other cognitive abilities, was a worthy project for an intelligence such as myself. Observing your growth was quite educational. And you did not interfere much with my other priorities.”

“I’m sure for you that’s quite a compliment.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

Savannah leaned back in her chair and sighed. She remembered all the times she thought John Connor had major mother issues, and realized that she was one to talk.

“Look, let’s just drop it, okay? Let’s get to why I’m here.”

“I’d be happy to,” Catherine said, smiling, with that same damn tone.

“John Connor and John Henry are working together.”

“As we planned,” Catherine said. She seemed pleased.

“They have a plan. But they need an ally. They ask that you and I build a sister to John Henry.”

Catherine looked at her, and there was something in her eyes, something that Catherine shouldn’t be able to imitate so well: excitement. She was positively riveted by the idea. 

Savannah realized that this was the first time her mother had ever looked at her with emotion. 

She hated to admit it, but it stung.

\--

“Our progress has been excellent,” Catherine said, setting plates of takeout in front of both the adult and child Savannahs. 

“I like John Henry’s sister!” little Savannah said. “She likes to invent games and so do I. We both like the same bands too. What’s your favorite band, Miss Sarah?”

They had decided that the adult Savannah would need another name so as not to confuse the child. Savannah had chosen the name Sarah. She had to admit, she was kind of hoping Catherine wouldn’t like the choice, but there had been no reaction of course.

“I don’t know all the bands any more,” Savannah said.

“She liked them quite a bit when she was younger,” Catherine said, a bit archly, and the adult Savannah frowned. No need making this more of a mindfuck than it already was, not that Catherine would care.

The child sat closer to Savannah, tucked herself under her arm. “Will you help me with my homework, Miss Sarah?”

“Of course.”

Catherine pointed out, “Miss Sarah’s quite good at math, but I’m better.” 

“But of course your mother doesn’t mind if I help,” Savannah said, smiling down at the little girl version of herself. It was surreal, certainly. But if she stopped thinking of the girl as her former self and just thought of her as a little girl who hasn’t known human affection for years, it was easy. She held the girl close to her, hand on her shoulder, and kissed her forehead. A lot of girls her age would object that they were too old for such treatment, but Savannah remembered that age, remembered how cold and covered it all felt.

But when she held the child, she felt warmth, human warmth. It was a good reminder that being raised by machines didn’t have to make you one. 

Hell, maybe time travel was the new therapy. 

Catherine ate silently then, and Savannah felt, oddly, satisfied.

“I thought of a name for John Henry’s sister,” little Savannah said then. 

“Oh?” Catherine said. She seemed genuinely interested. The adult Savannah wondered why Catherine had never named any of her machine children; did she not care about names, or was it something she felt humans understood how to do better? Savannah had actually been think about this: maybe a nice name from Greek mythology –an Amazon queen, perhaps. Something badass. (Of course, it was Catherine who had gotten her excited about myths, who had made sure she had an accelerated education so that she would be all ready for Judgment Day, when most people her age barely remembered anything from school).

“Snow White!” little Savannah said.

“Aren’t you a little old to be so into fairy tale princesses?” her adult counterpart asked. 

“No,” little Savannah said, as if it were the stupidest question she had ever heard.

“Why Snow White?” Catherine asked.

“People had to wait a long time for her to wake up. But when she did, everyone was happy.”

Catherine smiled. “An excellent idea. Snow White is the name of John Henry’s sister.”

“Wait. First, we should ask her if she likes the name,” little Savannah said.

Catherine’s brow creased. “Of course.” She seemed perturbed that she needed someone else to remind her of that.

“How about Hippolyta? Or Marie? As in Marie Curie?” adult Savannah asked, knowing it was futile.

Little Savannah took a big bite of rice and shook her head.

 

\--

“This is the hardest part, sending them off into the world. Hoping that they’re ready.” Catherine looked over at her, clearly expecting her to react as if they were in this together.

Savannah wished she could say she didn’t feel that way. But they had just spent a year raising someone as kind, inquisitive, and playful as John Henry, and now they were going to send this 1-year-old to war.

“We have to tell Savannah,” she answered Catherine. “The younger me.”

“That’s not a good idea.”

“They’re friends. She deserves the chance to say good bye. They both do.” 

Weaver frowned, but nodded. Savannah texted her younger self to come down to the work station.

“Snow is going to the future. To help people there.” Savannah kept a hand on the child’s shoulder, trying to make the loss easier.

“Will she see John Henry?” the child asked, sadly.

“Yes. They’ll be allies,” Catherine answered.

“Good,” the child said, swallowing. “I don’t want her to be lonely.”

“She won’t be. I promise,” adult Savannah answered. Truthfully, there was no way to know what Snow would be walking into. They had changed too much; there would be no predictions they could count on.

“Okay, a brief good bye then,” Catherine said.

They walked into the room where Snow lived. 

Little Savannah leaped up to hug the machine.

“I’m going to miss you,” the machine said. 

“You’re the best sister,” little Savannah said, crying.

“You are,” the machine said, holding her tight.

The adult Savannah watched, tense. It wasn’t right; to let a child feel like that about a machine. She felt guilty for the thought; she had raised Snow, knew that Snow had more of a conscience than someone like Catherine ever could. She cared about Snow, even. But she had seen too much in the future, and it still seemed wrong to let a machine hold a child. There was still a lie in it, somehow.

Snow looked at Catherine and adult Savannah then. She looked at them as if they were her parents, Savannah realized then. She wondered suddenly if she had been as cold, as secretly uncaring, a mother as Catherine had been to her.

“I’ll make you proud,” Snow promised them.

“We’re already proud,” Savannah said, and hoped she sounded sincere.

“Indeed,” Catherine said, “You are exceptionally prepared.”

They all stepped away then. 

Light, bright, then absence.

“I wish she didn’t have to go,” little Savannah said, wiping away a tear, leaning into Catherine’s side. 

“I know, dear,” Catherine said, “I feel the same way.” 

Catherine ran a gentle hand through little Savannah’s hair then, letting her nestle against her body, and the adult Savannah watched as the child leaned in close, as the soothing motions of Catherine’s fingers brought comfort, visible on the child’s face. The older Savannah felt something then, a pit of something in her stomach, deep, unnameable.


End file.
